What it seems...

"If it seems too good to be true, it probably is."

"Be careful, be careful, be careful. Always be careful."

"Never trust too quickly."

"Love like that isn't real."

It's an amazing thing, holding in your hand and in your heart that for which and for whom you've always wished and prayed - but never believed to be real. Love like that was in the fairy tales which moved my heart. Love like that was for other Christians or just other people in general, but not for me because I wasn't ______ enough. I had determined that my path was to be one of heart ache. And I didn't know why, but I had accepted it; determined to find the beauty there so that I could learn from my pain and comfort others who also found themselves in it.

I've grown up, my life shaped by watching the breaking of relationships and hearts. I was always told as the moral of the story of my parent's divorce, "Be careful who you choose."

Almost every relationship prior, I've been terrified at the outset of him leaving. I'm not afraid of that anymore. I'm really more afraid that one day I'll wake up like Cinderella after the clock struck midnight - with all the magical, wonderful, lovely things gone - and a return to my soot and broken pumpkin instead. I keep waiting for my clock to strike midnight because this seems too good to be true. 

And then I am reminded in Scripture where God tells us that He is a God who gives good gifts. And I can't think of a better gift than a man who teaches me about the love of God in his pursuit of me. I am learning about how Christ loves the Church, how God loves Israel, how the Holy Spirit works in the hearts of men and women; in the way that he chases after my heart each day - beginning every morning when I wake up.

And I am so grateful.

Here is a man who speaks the language of my heart. And he doesn't shout it at me. He waits patiently and whispers and coaxes - like a horse whisperer. I am not afraid when my heart is with him. Lord knows I've tried pushing him away - flashing the "I believe in _______" card that so often pushes men away. But instead of standing rigid against me or saying, "Well, I don't - so bye," he replies, "I'm cool with that," and then I know that I am safe to actually talk about it with him.

He says he's not eloquent, but he writes me the most beautiful love messages.

This man is a gift in my life. And he teaches me patience even as I make him wait. "Not yet," is becoming a phrase that I am learning to not resist or push against. Instead, I am joyfully waiting for when the time becomes "Okay...Now." I don't have to worry about fighting with him for my rights or my dignity as a human being. I don't have to worry about him trying to put me in a place where I am something for him to show off or otherwise follow around in his shadow. Here is a man, instead, who wants to partner with me; who wants to dance with me; who wants to adventure with me.

I now legitimately understand how and why people write love songs.

And I want to shout it from the rooftops: I've found him! 

I've finally found him!

God has finally brought "the one!"

I've found him!

But I am learning also that some good things are best kept close to the heart and treasured before being announced. Now is not the time for proclamation. Now is the time for quiet breathing and for storing things into my heart.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I started writing the above blog about a month ago, but I didn't publish it because I sensed that "Now" was not the right time.

It's amazing what can happen in a few weeks.

It's amazing how the fairytale can flip. In place of the dream-come-true is a void: a nightmare. And the nightmare is true. And just when you don't think it can get any worse - just when you think you can't feel any more pain than you already do...it does, and you do.

I'm not going to list details or tell any stories, but I will say that what little hope I had yesterday ended with hyperventilating, sobbing, uncontrollable shaking, and freezing up. Last night, my stress culminated and I threw up before going to bed - losing what little food I had been able to stomach eating. (I think that having to scoop one's own vomit out of the sink is a special kind of low, by the way.) 
But the Holy Spirit is gracious to me - was a source of comfort even then - bringing a God-given numbness (a sense of peace, calm, and exhaustion) when my body went into shock (the first time), and finally bringing me sleep when I made it into my bed after losing my dinner. 

I woke up today not wanting to move, wanting to spend the rest of my life curled up on the couch with my cat. But God, the Creator of the universe and the Creator of my heart, knows how to hold me. And He will bring me healing.

I have friends who knew I needed to get out of my apartment today. And although my heart is still aching, my body feels numb and weak, and I feel the threat of tears burning behind my eyes - I feel better.

I have clarity now.

As friends for two years, as someone who'd known the brutal beating that my heart has repeatedly taken over the past two years - he knew that I was vulnerable. He knew that my heart was fragile. I told him to take it slow. I tried so hard to do the right thing - to protect and guard my heart. I tried to be wise. I reminded him. I tried.

But he didn't listen. He went after what he wanted. And I fell for him. Hard.
 He may have felt love for me. I won't deny that. But, as I learned in acting, feeling isn't enough - you have to do it. And his actions were not and continue to prove that they are not loving towards me. In the end, sweet words and love songs weren't enough either.

He promised me the world. He spoke my heart's language. But his poor, foolish choices have led him in a different direction than where he indicated that he and I would go - chosing to "do the right thing" by another woman and leaving me in the cold. I don't see that doing right by me and doing right by her would be mutually exclusive, but he has made his choice. He has a bill to pay for his previous choices. And I will not be the one to cover the cost.  

I am thankful. Thank God he was geographically far away so that he was not able to take anything more from me other than my heart (as if that was a small prize). And thank God that I got out sooner than later - because I cannot imagine the amount of devastation I'd feel if he and I had progressed with a relationship further than what we had started. I literally cannot imagine - because the devastation that I feel now is borderline overwhelming.

I went to bed last night feeling like my heart had been repeatedly stabbed and then ripped out, leaving a giant cavity in my body where my guts had once been. I felt like I was covered in my own blood...and drowning in it.

On one hand, I feel very much like the victim - targeted as a prize. (This blog on the concept of dating as a form of hunting is really thoughtful.) He asked me for forever before he was sure that he was able to offer me the same. But I am also a survivor. At least: I will be.

Because, when it comes down to it (verb-wise) he did not love me. He went after pleasing himself. He did not fight for me, or respect me...or (ultimately) treasure me. He KNEW that I was so very vulnerable, and he was not careful with my heart. Intentions mean very little when compared with actual actions.  

And this hurts. This hurts like hell. My heart has been fully broken. But I will heal. I am already starting to heal. Each breath that I take is a grace - is a breath towards restoration. I am not okay, but I will be.
I firmly and fully believe that. That's why I am writing.

I know what lesson to have taken out of this: I need a man who will listen to me and respect me - acting in love to put the well-being of my heart before his own wants...

And now I have finals to go work on.
    

Just another broken heart

I'm haunted by the words, "If it's too good to be true, it probably is."

I thought I was different. I thought I found somebody who proved that my dreams were more than just dreams - that they could be a reality. And I was ready to say, "What cynicism the world is diseased with! I found the fairy tale. I found it to be true!" I was simply waiting for the high to wear off a bit so that I could have clarity to see that things like laundry still needed to be done.

I found a man who helped me see the truth in all the love songs. Suddenly, those songs weren't just hokey, over-produced lyrics set to melody. They were real expressions of something that the heart could feel.
I'd always said I wanted to be in a relationship with a person who made the love songs feel true. And I finally had that.

At least, I thought I had that.

Someday, I'll learn better about timing, I guess.

And I know that even though I feel like I've been hit by a city bus, that I will survive this. Slowly, God and I will wade through the pain and He will help me walk again.

I'm not afraid of having a broken heart. I know what it is to feel pain...
I'm afraid of watching my dreams die. I'm afraid of hardening my heart because, honestly, this pain is exhausting.

I don't want to believe, "If it's too good to be true then it probably is," because I believe in a God of miracles. I believe in a God of love - the Creator of love - the Sharer of love as part of His character. We, made in His image, get to experience and share that too.
Love of all kinds.

I believe that the Maker of the sunrise can bring love to my heart that lights up my life.

But, oh God, in the face of watching this dream die, it's hard not to let go of the hope entirely.

The God who Sees (me)

In times of heartache, I often return to stories from Scripture for sources of comfort. Perhaps surprisingly, my first choice oftentimes does not lead me to a story of Jesus. A regular favorite of mine is that of Hagar:

As a result of Abraham and Sarah not believing God's promise and thereby following God's plan, Hagar, Sarah's personal slave, is sexually used in order to produce Abraham a child. It was not like she had a choice in the matter - no more than she had any say in her body actually becoming pregnant. While I cannot condone Hagar's contempt towards Sarah for being barren, I do not see her poor behavior as justification for the resulting abusive nature with which Sarah treats Hagar (as if there is ever "justification" for abuse). As those of us who grew up in the Church hearing the story know, Sarah's abuse towards Hagar was so bad that Hagar chose to run away into the desert wilderness (surely not a place of survival) rather than remain within the "safety" that Abraham and Sarah's community represented. In case any clarification is needed, Hagar is still pregnant at this point in the story. So, in other words, a pregnant (vulnerable) woman chose running away into the wilderness as preferable to staying with other people who might otherwise protect her. (...Safety in numbers, right?) That's how bad this was.

However, "The angel of the Lord found [Hagar] by a spring of water in the wilderness, the spring on the way to Shur." (Gen 16:7, ESV) His resulting words of command, encouragement, and promise gave her the courage and strength to return home, bear the child, and the rest (as we say) is history (although a very messy one at that). (I also doubt that when God promised that her son would be the father of a great nation that she anticipated the [painful] way in which that would come about...but we seldom anticipate the curve-balls that are thrown as a result of living in this fallen, broken world.)

That's all back-story. Now, here's my favorite part - the part I go back to again and again. Hagar, who has basically been otherwise shat upon by life, (pardon my French) marvels about her interaction with God:

So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me.” (Gen. 16:13, ESV)

In meeting with Hagar, God acknowledged Hagar's pain which she had done NOTHING to deserve and in no way had "earned," showed her that He loved her, and also blessed her. He let her know that she (who otherwise did not matter according to society) was seen - that she (and her pain) were not invisible or ignored before Him. And there is such a great mercy in knowing that we are seen and cared for by the Creator of the universe. Hagar's understanding of God - her very name for Him - was shaped by the knowledge that He saw her and watched over her and understood her plight.

I got curious about differing translations of the Genesis 16:13 and decided to look them up in a quick search engine-type-thing:

Thereafter, Hagar used another name to refer to the LORD, who had spoken to her. She said, "You are the God who sees me." She also said, "Have I truly seen the One who sees me?" (NLV)

She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her: "You are the God who sees me," for she said, "I have now seen the One who sees me." (NIV)

Then she called the name of the LORD who spoke to her, "You are a God who sees"; for she said, "Have I even remained alive here after seeing Him?" (NASB)

Some of the translations present some her incredulously questioning if she truly just saw God. Others depict her stating (with what I imagine to be amazement and wonder) that she saw God. Throughout the statements and questions, there is a variance in how she perceived Him (or in how the interpreters of the text perceived her interaction). And I love the variance because I think it points to our range of responses when we see or hear God in our lives. (And sometimes this mix of responses elicits forth from the same person, from the same interaction...all within a few moments/hours/days following the interaction with God.)

I love that God sees me in my pain - that it isn't just something that He glosses over. I figure that if Hagar can have a response of peace, then so can I.
I also love the various translations because each brings out something about the mysterious, wonderful, life-giving, tender power that accompanies the times when God's fingerprints are so clearly left in the workings of our lives.

So, thank you, God, for meeting me in the wilderness - for seeing me in my pain, and for sending your "angels" to let me know that I'm not alone.

Grief Shadows

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken."

~ CS Lewis

I have come to the conclusion that grief exists as a shadow to love and beauty. While we may love something because we find it beautiful, I think that often a thing becomes transformed into something beautiful once we love it: like the transformations in the stories of the frog prince or in beauty and the beast. I also think that sometimes beauty and love work together - not one causing the other - but both working in and on the heart in a mysterious, confusing, simultaneous nature.

And when that beloved, beautiful thing (or person) is taken away, lost, damaged, or hurt - our heart takes the beating. Because our hearts have become attached. In that beautiful, beloved person or thing, we get a glimpse and a taste of God's beauty - of the way that things were meant to be.

Grief, then, acts as a testament to the worthy nature of that for which we mourn. Grief points not only to injustice and the sense that this should not be, but also points to "that" was good.

The last time I reflected like this was when my grandpa died and my world was rocked by wave after wave of heavy grief - because I loved him, and he was gone.

* * *

I am angry. 
I never thought before that I would ever identify with the title of God as Judge. Although I'd never admit it, I subconsciously thought that the term was archaic. I did not understand it - because I am good and my friends are good people. Of my/our lack of goodness and the presence of pride and self-centered individualism in its stead, I am sure God will someday lead me to explore in a more honest way. But today, I am learning of standing before Him as Judge, demanding justice.

Today, and yesterday, and the day before that, and probably tomorrow, and the day after that, I stand before God angry at violent injustice. I am broken about active evil executed by a man against my heart's sister. I don't know if he was blind to how fearfully and wonderfully made she is; or if he saw how she had been crafted in the image of God and, filled with evil, decided to lash out. I don't know.
But I am angry.

It wasn't personal. He didn't even know her. But in violating her body as a woman, he violated my body, the body of my mother, my grandmother - the female body collective. It might not have been personal for him, but as a female, it was personal for me. And this isn't even about me.

And I want to stand before God and scream for justice. I better understand the Psalmists because I, too, want people dashed against the rocks.

And then, I reflect that Christ died on the Cross just for instances such as these. He died for rape, and bombings, and genocides, and theft, and assault, and racism, and institutionalized poverty; and for pride which leads good people to think, "Well, I'm not that bad..."

* * *

So, I stand in the shadows of grief, reflecting upon love and beauty; crying out for justice - and praying it does not fall upon me.
Lord, have mercy.

All Chains Broken

I had a vision that I was half stuck in the ground - like a zombie struggling to get out of the dirt, or like a person stuck in a hole of deep-holding mud. Suddenly, the power of chains being broken swept over me, and my inner self was freed. My spirit, clean, burst forth - swirling and dancing up into the sky above my filthy, still struggling body. As my spirit twirled in the air, the Holy Spirit swept and soared into me, colliding and spinning me into an even stronger, more exuberant dance. We turned back to my body, still gasping for freedom. My spirit peered into my body's eyes, tilting my body's chin up before kissing and breathing life into the parched, dried lips of my face. My spirit wiped away at the mud smattered across my body's cheeks. Then, the Holy Spirit and I worked to free my body from the ground - like restoring life to a body that was dead or near to dying. My body was firmly stuck - although neither impossibly nor eternally so. My spirit pulled, and my body was willing, but also resistant. Finally, not sure where I was in the process of being restored and brought to life, my spirit - now alive and resting in the assurance of the work of the Holy Spirit for my continued restoration - entered back into my body.


I'm not sure what that all means. And while I know that it toes the line of gnosticism, I also know that it's not. I just think it's significant.

Ghost Castle Pirate

Last night I had a dream that I sailed off the edge of the world in hunt of a giant octopus. The pirate king who captained the ship wanted me dead. His ghost castle (he was a ghost as well) was filled with poisoned tempting foods - like chocolate. Eating any of the food there would result in poisoning, death, and then belonging to the pirate king (slighlty remeniscent of the mythology of Persephone, Hades, and the pomegranate seed). But, I had resisted. At first he was shocked and disbelieving. Then, he believed - but he wanted me dead. He possessed an attitude of entitlement to me - but he could only "win" me as his prey through trickery. Thus, he decided to raise the stakes and take me on an adventure - sure where I would give into temptation along the way, die, and then be his.

So, we sailed on his ship into a magical port and over the edge of the world. And while I knew in my sleep that I was dreaming, I still felt my heart rise to my throat and the thrill of a long, downward fall. I don't remember how we landed. I only know that we caught the beast who cursed us for the abuse worked against him. The kraken was made as a god among men, and we had deigned to capture him with nets and ropes. If the pirate king intended to kill the beast or instead to enslave his power, I do not know. Because then I woke up.

Scratch-marks

There's something about having what (or whom) you love stripped from your life that leaves you feeling like clawing at the air.

Fast-forward two weeks and people expect that because you're acting "better" that, naturally, everything must be fine.

Oh, what a shock when the grief-wave hits again, complete with the undertow of anger. There's nothing like that to remind yourself (and everyone around you) that, no darlin', you're not "okay" yet.

But, Lord-willing, Lord-providing, and Lord-carrying-your-brokenhearted-little-body-through-it-all, you're at least on the path to healing.
And the up-shot is that your wounds will help you better love people in the future when their heart is chopped up like yours has been. It's comforting to know that your wounds will someday bring another comfort. (It's a picture of Christ, isn't it?)